


Dean's Top 13 Pansy Division Traxx

by FrankieWritesStuff



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean discovers pansy division, Gen, Kinda a case fic, Set in the 90s, Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 03:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankieWritesStuff/pseuds/FrankieWritesStuff
Summary: A lull in the case gives Dean and Sam some free time to check out a local garage sale. Dean makes a discovery.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	Dean's Top 13 Pansy Division Traxx

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by katebushstandean's Cowboys Are Frequently Secretly Fond of Each Other dean amv, i'm obsessed with it! pansy division stan Dean rise up! 
> 
> Also, i hate that this has to be said, but if ur a w*ncestie then get the fuck out, u are not allowed to read this. this is not for you. to quote mr collins: "yuck."
> 
> EDIT: here's the playlist to go with! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0gybkktmslVZKnvSSTpVlz?si=IdsolSsfS-mjIQ6bfUf7rQ   
> sorry sjkgkldfsgh idk how to hyperlink on here rip

The sun is beating down, glaring off the sidewalk, causing Dean to squint as he and Sam make their way through the neighborhood, following the signs leading the way to the garage sale, Dean huffing and grumbling the entire way.

“I don’t get why you like going to these things, there’s never anything good.” He complains.

“I’ve told you,” Sam sighs, exasperated, “they have books, for cheap.”

“Yeah, yeah, always with the books,” Dean rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into pants pockets, his jacket is tied around his waist. It’s way too hot to wear it. He scuffs his boots against the ground in annoyance. He could be sitting in the AC of the motel, taking a nap, but no, Sam wanted to go check out the garage sale he saw advertised that morning. So, Sam gets to go check out the garage sale.

“Dude stop doing that,” Sam whines.

“Doing what?”

“Kicking at the ground while you walk.”

“What, you mean like this?” Dean scuffs the toe of his boot harder, the noise making Sam flinch.

“Dude, stop! Oh, we’re here!” Sam takes off, and Dean takes in their surroundings. The house looks small compared to the neighboring ones, but it has a large yard and a long driveway. There’re tables set up all over, with a bunch of random shit. Sam found the book table, a dozen cardboard boxes filled with books spread across 2 fold-out tables. That’ll keep the kid busy for a while. Whatever, Sammy can nerd out for a few hours, it’s not like they have anywhere to be--Dad’s off at some bar getting hammered on a Tuesday afternoon, he’s not gonna care where Dean and Sam are.

Dean starts walking around, taking a leisurely pace as he meanders through the tables of shit. It’s just stuff; every garage sale is just useless shit taking up space in people’s lives, so they get rid of it for the next clueless bastard to place on a shelf to collect dust. Dean hates garage sales.

A pointed cough startles him, and he freezes mid-step. He looks up and there’s a man, maybe mid 30s with a thick beard and tank top, sitting behind the table. Dean gulps.

“That your brother?” the gruff voice questions, and heat floods Dean’s face.

“Uh, yes sir.”

“Shouldn’t you boys be at school?”

“Its our day off sir,” Dean lies easily, he’s used to telling it.

The man nods, “alright, just checking. Education’s important.” Dean scoffs mentally, yeah right. He’s already dropped out at 16, school’s never meant shit to him. Much to the disappoint of Uncle Bobby. Whatever. Still, Dean feels a flush of embarrassment at the casual display of human decency, and he ducks his head, rubbing his hand on the side of his thigh and then tucks it back into his pocket. He looks back up at the man, nodding quickly, and scurries away from him, wanting to be anywhere but there.

He continues wandering through the maze of tables, time slipping away as he passes chipped ceramics, worn paintings, dish towels, clothes, weird knick knacks, and other useless shit, and he finds himself at a table with music stuff. Might as well look through it, see what’s here. He’s been looking for a new tape that Dad would approve of. Dad hates the shit that Sam listens to; if Sam wants to listen to Oingo Boingo or the Talking Heads he has to do that on his own personal cassette player when Dad isn’t around.

Dean searches through the records, tapes, song books, and guitar cables when he sees it. A stack of cassette tapes, 5 of them, taped together in a bundle with a $5 price sticker slapped on top. The sticker obscures part of the first word, but the second word says “Division”. That’s gotta be Joy Division, Dean’s heard of them. Excitedly he picks them up, turning the stack over in his hands to see the different tapes when he reads what it actually is and freezes.

Its not Joy Division… its _Pansy_ Division.

His face flushes, feeling suddenly exposed. His hand burns where he’s touching the tapes, but he can’t make himself set them down. Carefully, as if its glass, he turns the stack over to the back of the last cassette, reading the track list, and his face gets impossibly hotter as he reads the song titles. “Boyfriend wanted”, “The Cocksucker Club”, “Rock and Roll Queer Bar”, what the fuck?

_What the fuck?_

“If you want them, we can combine our cash, I don’t mind.” Dean jumps out of his skin, heart racing. He clutches the tapes to his chest.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy. Give a dude a little warning will ya?” he glares down at his brother, who was peaking around his shoulder to glance at the tapes, feeling seen in a bad way, so he tries to do what he does best. Deflect. “What about your books? You’ve been lookin’ for somethin’ new to read…”

Sam waves his hand, “I didn’t find anything worth reading here, and besides I don’t mind reading Slaughterhouse 5 again. Really.”

Dean gulps, Christ. “I mean, if you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” Sam nods encouragingly, “get them. You can use my cassette player, Dad won’t find out. You can keep the tapes with my books under the back seat.”

Sam’s not gonna let this go, he’s got his Convincing Face on, so Dean relents. “Fine, we’ll get them,” he glares down at his shoes, furrowing his eyebrows, “just don’t tell anyone.”

“You know I won’t.”

Great, the kid is smug. Winning an argument is like crack to Sammy. “C’mon, let’s pay for these and get out of here.” He’s shamefully intrigued by the tapes, maybe he’ll lock himself in the motel bathroom to listen to them.

They make their way back to the table where the man is sitting, and Dean flushes again. He’s gotta look like a fucking tomato by now.

“You boys find something?”

Dean ducks his head down and roughly—whoops—slides the stack of tapes across the table to him, his hand shaking with nerves. “Uh, y-yeah. Just these.”

The man picks them up, and smiles. “Ah, Pansy Division, fun band. Got to see them in concert when I was living in California.”

Dean grabs the cash out of his pocket and starts counting out ones, Sam’s counting out quarters in his hand. The man must come to some kind of realization, because then he goes “how about I give you boys a discount?”

Sam looks at Dean for approval, and Dean nods. “Uh, that would uh, that would be great. Sir.”

“Does two dollars seem fair?”

“More than fair, sir.” Dean hands him two ones, and the man slides the tapes back across the table, chuckling softly, causing Dean to tense up.

“These are yours now. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.” He smiles at Dean, and he feels himself relax. He carefully picks the tapes up, as if they might shatter in his hands, and stares at them intently.

Sam grabs his elbow “Thank you, sir.”

“You boys have a good day, now.” Does the man know? He’s gotta know.

“You too,” Sam sounds like he’s underwater, and then he’s dragging Dean away. Dean has the awareness to look back over his shoulder and call out a thank you, causing the man to laugh and wave at them.

They make their way back through the neighborhood, heading back to the grimy old motel. Dean feels jittery. He owes Sam big time for this. He turns the stack of tapes over one more time, as if memorizing the shapes with his fingertips, and them gently tucks them into his pocket, feeling the shape resting against his thigh.

He rubs his hands against his legs. “Dad won’t be back for a few more hours, wanna stop at the gas station and get a slushie?” Dean does the math in his head, they should have enough for 2, and still have money left for dinner.

Sam smiles at him, “yeah, that’d be awesome!”

Dean nods to himself, “cool, just don’t go overboard. Don’t want Dad to find out.”

He’s not just talking about the slushies.

And Sam knows.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”


End file.
